


Hannigram Oneshots

by VergerBloom



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Dominant Hannibal Lecter, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hannibal draws Will, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Pre-Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Sex Dreams, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, Submissive Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in Cuba, they're so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26224513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VergerBloom/pseuds/VergerBloom
Summary: A series of oneshots centred around Hannigram. Mainly murder husbands in Cuba with some pre-relationship too.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 182





	1. Second Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal teaches Will piano.

Will liked the evenings in Cuba best. 

He was still acclimatising to the heat of the day; the sun rose in power in the early morning, washing the townhouse he and Hannibal shared in Varadero in a vivid gold. He found the heat a little stifling, the chatter of the day chaotic; he'd spent half his life in the cold, grey, climate of Virginia, his house an anchor in the middle of a cold, white, sea. The sea here was warm, lurid blue, and clear, and when Hannibal slipped his hands around Will's waist, chin pressed against his hair, the heat and the noise faded into nothing. 

That evening, when Will drained his bath, slipping on his robe and padding down the hallway, feet bare, he heard music from the living room, as he often did.The house was warm, comfortably so, the sun's fierce glare finally dimishing as nightfall approached, amber fading into muted purples and deep indigo. The door was open, Hannibal sitting at the piano, eyes distant as he played. Will stilled for a moment, leaning his head against the door, a faint smile playing on his lips. He liked to watch Hannibal play, watch his poised frame slacken, his eyes grow distant, unguarded. The grand piano was sleek black, edged with silver, matching the loose cotton shirt Hannibal wore, rolled up to the elbows. He stilled, eyes coming back into focus. 

"Chopin's Berceuse," Hannibal stated, still facing the piano. Will smiled a little at how perceptive Hannibal was about him; he recognised his footsteps, his heartbeat, the lilt in his voice. "It's a lullaby," Hannibal continued, turning slowly on the piano stool. His expression was serene, a small smile ghosting his lips. "Come, sit," he gestured to the space next to him on the stool. Will nodded, walking to him, the wood floor cool on his bare feet. He slid his hands over Hannibal's shoulders, kissing his neck lightly, before falling into place next to him. 

"He spoke of this piece little, but said that, after a career of playing so many notes," Hannibal lifted Will's fingers gently to the keys, "he found that the beauty of music lay in its simplicity." Hannibal played the first motion slowly, fingers barely pressing the keys. Will attempted a clumsy imitation, fumbling the notes, and laughed a little to himself.

"I feel as though that beauty may be lost on me," he replied, trying again. Hannibal smiled faintly, eyes gentle. "I've never understood how you play like that, how anyone does, as though you're not thinking about it." He tried again, this time worse than the last. "See?!" He laughed to himself, turning to Hannibal. "I always press too hard on the keys."

Hannibal smiled, then turned back to the keys, playing the beautiful motion fluidly. _It did sound like a lullaby_ , Will thought to himself, dreamy and soft. "When you repeat a motion often enough," Hannibal continued, still playing the piece, "It becomes automatic; second nature." The piece finished as slowly and delicately as it had begun, Hannibal hovering his fingers over the keys for a few moments as the sound rang out around the spacious room. Will was watching him intently, eyes almost awestruck. Hannibal turned to him then, and took his hands in his own, pressing them towards his chest. The room was cast in silver now, white light dappling the oak floor like ripples in water. Hannibal's hands were warm and calloused, strong. How could hands so strong play something so gentle?

"I can show you again tomorrow, if you'd like," Hannibal said softly, eyes flicking to Will's. Will nodded, pressing his forehead to Hannibal's. 

"As long as you don't expect me to play it well," Will replied smiling. Hannibal laughed low in this throat, then brought Will's hands to the sound, pressing them against his pulse point. Will pressed forward, kissing Hannibal deeply on the mouth, sliding his hands into Hannibal's hair. It was longer than Will had ever seen it, curling in soft strands around his neck and ears. Hannibal brought his hands up to Will's hips, then slid them under his robe, palms fanning out over Will's tan skin. Will pulled back a little, pressing a kiss to his throat. The room was dark now, everything in it smoke and shadow except Hannibal's eyes, which were bright and wide. 

"Come, it's late," Hannibal said, slipping his hands from where they rested at Will's waist and standing, offering Will his hand. Will smiled, slipping his hand into Hannibal's and pushing himself to his feet. They walked leisurely out of the room, the pressure of Hannibal's hand against the small of Will's back warming his skin through the thin fabric of his robe. As they climbed the staircase to their room, Will smiled to himself in the dark, knowing that tomorrow he'd wake up to light and water, and the familiarity of Hannibal's body against his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love domestic hannigram lol


	2. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal share their first kiss in Cuba.

Cuba is hot. And crowded.

The streets from outside our top floor window in Varadero are bustling, even as noon approaches, the blue sky fading into dusky rose as the evening sets in. Hannibal said it was better like this; easier to hide in plain sight, blend in with all the other faces. I hear the stream of the shower quiet and minutes later Hannibal walks into the bedroom wearing the clothes we bought earlier; a blue silk shirt and black trousers, his feet bare. I almost stifle a laugh; he looks so normal, so metrapolitan, sunglasses tucked into the button hole of his undone shirt. I feel a thrill go through me at the sight of his exposed skin, glimmering a little with perspiration, and lift my eyes up to his. He's watching me intently, the vacant look from weeks ago gone. I think I see mirth there too, just a glint of it, and my neck flushes.

"Amazing, isn't it?" he gestures to the people outside the window, bathed in the striking light of the sun, "All these people, we are anonymous among them." It's as though the sun never loses power here, just burns and burns like a furnace. I think of Wolf Trap, of the snow and the cold and the pale grey sky. Again, it feels like recalling somebody else's memories.

"Like being pulled under by the current of the sea," I reply, and I see his mouth quirk up. He turns back to me, sitting on the bed so that he's facing me, and grips my chin gently, surveying my face. "You've almost healed," he says, eyes flicking over my face appraisingly. I feel vulnerable, suddenly, like he's seeing me for the first time, and that same flush creeps up the tan skin of my neck. He notices, and it seems to please him.

I swallow, then lift my eyes to his. "Have you?"

He leans back, lifting his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk on his face, then lifts his shirt, his smooth skin dappled with scarring wounds. He holds my gaze for a moment longer before dropping the material.

A silence stretches out between us, punctuated only by the chirping of birds and the chatter of the people on the streets. He's looking out of the window still, the sun on his skin, and I feel as though I am asleep, that this is some strange, bewildering dream, that I will wake up in cold, sweated, sheets, snow falling outside the window of my house, like a solitary ship in a wide, wide, ocean.

"Do you dream of it, Will, of falling?" he asks suddenly, voice quiet. His eyes are on me again.  
I look at him, taking in his damp hair and flushed cheeks. He looks almost gentle, hands in his lap, eyes clear and bright. I have seen those hands do terrible, unspeakable, things. Hands that he has held to my forehead as I wept, held me up with as I bled, held me down with as he attacked. Now they feel almost safe, he feels safe, or at least known, like the only thing I really understand.

"Of falling? No," I reply, my voice just as soft. The evening tourists' voices are beginning to fade, the room transitioning from gold to silver as the sun finally makes its descent into the sea.

"Of what then?" he asks, eyes flicking over my face.

"Of moonlight," I say, a little louder, as if suddenly sure of myself. "I dream of the moonlight on the cliff, and the blood on the ground, and your hands on my back," I say. He's watching me, like he did in our many therapy sessions in Baltimore, where I was pretending to pretend to understand. "But I always wake up before we fall."

He nods, then slowly, as if approaching a startled deer, moves towards me on the bed. There's no sound now, aside from the ticking of the clock on the mantle and my heartbeat in my ears, my neck. He presses his hand right over the pulse point, our noses touching, then, just as gently, presses his lips to mine. It's a chaste kiss, quiet, like the calm before an uncoming storm. I lift my hands up to cup his cheeks, his skin warm under my palms, press my chest against his. When I finally pull away, his eyes are fluttered shut, and when he opens them, his mouth just above mine, his face is all I see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)


	3. Eyes Closed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wakes from a dream of Hannibal.

Will wakes in a daze, breathing raggedly. Remnants of the dream lie next to him in the bed, murky and broken. But it is his face, Hannibal's face, that he still sees so clearly, eyes dark with arousal, hand on his throat. Will groans, trying to shake the memory off and leans across to check the clock on his nightstand. 3:00 am glows back at him in the darkness, almost accustory. 

Sighing, he runs his hands through his mussed hair, trying to shake away the feeling of Hannibal's hands on him, as well as his growing arousal. He hears Hannibal's low, gentle, voice in his head, whispering darkness in his ear, and his erection strains unbearably against his briefs. Sweating through the heat, he slips off his t-shirt, hurling the comforter off the bed so that he lies almost naked on his sheets, skin shimmering in the heat of the night. He sees movement outside his window, a deer, perhaps, at the edge of the forest, tries to focus on the movement, slow his breathing. He shouldn't be feeling this, shouldn't allow him to make him feel like this, unhinged, out of control. He remembers their latest session, Hannibal sitting opposite him, poised as though ready to prey, eyes growing dark, pupils dilating, as Will admitted he'd thought about killing him. With his hands. His hands...

Will suppresses a moan, hand against his mouth, as he finally succumbs to the arousal and slips his hand into his shorts. The room is quiet but for his breaths, which begin to become more frequent and uneven as he strokes his length, increasing pressure. Hannibal's face appears in his mind again; the cruel curve of his mouth, glinting eyes, tan skin, calloused hands. He imagines his hands on him now, stroking him, coaxing the sounds from his mouth, one hand on his throat, the other in his shorts. Will growls low in his throat, conjuring an image of Hannibal in his mind, kneeling beneath him in therapy, hands sliding up Will's inner thighs, mouth following, unbuttoning his jeans and taking him in his mouth, all his power and poise gone, subservient to Will. Will releases a final moan, the image pushing him over the edge to climax, eyes closed, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. He releases his hold on himself, coming down slowly, body shaking, the image of Hannibal still powerful in his minds eye. A low longing follows, something softer than the intense lust, and he imagines what it would be like if Hannibal were here, his body next to his. He shakes the thought away, turning to the side to the emptiness beside him, and drifts into a broken sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally never write smut bc I'm so bad at it so I hope this was okay lol


	4. Night Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will seeks comfort at Hannibal's in the middle of the night.

Will stood at foot of the steps to Hannibal's practise, still not quite sure if he had the wherewithal to knock. It was two in the morning, the sky a black pit, punctuated by a smattering of stars like bullet wounds on a body. Garrett Jacob Hobbs' face entered Wil's mind then, as it so often did, with torturous clarity; the unseeing eyes, blood-stained shirt, and his last words, words that haunted Will, left no corners in his mind to hide in; 'see.'

Shuddering, Will strengthened his resolve and gave two stacatto knocks on the door with his fist, the sound reverberating around the deserted streets. He folded his arms over his chest, as if suddenly shy of himself; he was wearing a nightshirt and a pair of flimsy cotton trousers; he'd barely been able to think, his mind twisting and untwisting in knots, until the pressure in his head reached a crescendo and he had to get out, go someplace safe, quiet. Hannibal was the first person he thought of - the only person he thought of. 

He heard feet padding down the steps, and seconds later the latch unlocked, revealing Hannibal. He wasn't dressed in his usual pristine attire, wearing a crisp white shirt and slacks, with no shoes, although he still appeared poised and neat, his expression bemused. 

"Will," he started, taking in Will's terse expression and mismatched clothing. "Are you alright?"

Will shifted on his feet. "I know it's late, Dr Lecter," he rushed out, "but I couldn't sleep, he..." he paused, sighing almost resignedly,"Garrett Jacob Hobbs, that day..."

Hannibal nodded, "I understand completely," he smiled a little wryly. "Usually my office hours are closed for patients at this time, but my door is always open to a friend," he opened the door wider. "Please, come in."

Will followed him through the doorway, thanking him and slipping off his snow boots. It was strange to see Hannibal like this - almost unguarded, sleeves rolled up and shirt buttoned down - and almost comforting. Will felt his ragged breathing begin to slow a little. 

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Will said quietly, following Hannibal into the kitchen. 

"Not at all," Hannibal replied, pressing his back against the kitchen island and observing Will. "I was in the middle of completing some paperwork for another patient," Will began to apologise. "No, I'm grateful for the reprieve - he was a particularly boring case." Will laughed a little despite himself, Hannibal smiling at the reaction he illicted. "Vermouth?" he asked, gesturing to the bottle on the kitchen counter, "I find it to be very helpful in troubling times."

Will smiled, but shook his head lightly. "Alcohol dulls me, I need to clear my head," Will replied. Hannibal nodded. 

"No matter," he said, filling a kettle with water. "I'll make you some tea."

They stood in Hannibal's office, backed against his desk, shoulder to shoulder, and observed the room. The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable, punctuated only when Will blew on his steaming tea. Hannibal wasn't drinking his. He got the feeling Hannibal was waiting for him to speak, when he felt comfortable. He was not sure it was possible to feel comfortable talking about this, the very nature of it was uncomfortable to him. Still, he felt a little better, with the tea in hand, in a familiar room, with Hannibal's steady figure next to him. 

"Do you have nightmares?" Will asked suddenly, still staring at a point on the opposite wall. Hannibal leaned farther back against the desk, eyes distant. 

"No, I don't," Hannibal replied quietly. "My subconscious is probably the most still part of me. It's only when I wake that I reflect on all that has happened," he walked slowly towards the couch on the opposite end of the room. "And for that, I have several remedies."

He lowered himself onto the couch, then patted the space next to him. "Come, sit."

Will slowly raised himself from the desk, placing his half-empty tea cup down carefully on a spare piece of paper that lay on the wood, before joining Hannibal where he sat. Hannibal picked up a stack of thick parchment, rifling through it until he found what he wanted. 

"This is my escape," he said, presenting the paper to Will. It was a pencil drawing, a drawing of a large, impressive, building, detailed and refined. Will looked over it curiously, his eyes flicking up to Hannibal's. 

"Yours?" He asked, eyes still on him. 

"My old boarding school in Paris," Hannibal said quietly, eyes downcast. "When uncomfortable in the present, I go to the past." He finished, eyes flicking to Will's face. "Where is a safe place you can go to,Will?"

Will rose his eyes to Hannibal, swallowing, and the silence between them spoke for him. Hannibal nodded, almost imperceptibly, the ghost of a smile curving his mouth, before standing. "I'll clean up a little," he placed a hand gently on Will's shoulder. "Look over those if you like," he said, still observing Will. "Think about what I said."

Will watched Hannibal's lithe figure as he rounded the desk, picking up Will's cup, and left the room. Will leafed through the drawings, each as beautiful and precise as the last. Will's eyes lingered on a particularly striking life drawing of a tall, lean man, his hair a mass of curls. He focused on the lines, tracing them with his eyes, listening to the light sounds of Hannibal in the kitchen. He felt his eyes begin to grow heavy, the remnants of the fear he felt dulling a little, Garrett Jacob Hobbs' face becoming blurry in his mind, like a drawing ruined by rain. He felt his body slump back, head resting on the firm material of the couch. Just as he drifted from consciousness to sleep, he felt a thick cover fall over his frame, and two strong arms pressing on his shoulders. The last thing he remembered was Hannibal's shadow falling over him as he sat back down at the end of the couch, and the sound of his fingers on paper, an anchor in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying so far :)


	5. Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will comes back to the house wearing a new cologne, and it doesn't go unnoticed by Hannibal.

Will arrived home around nightfall, just as the sun began to bleed into the sea. He unlatched the door, slipping inside and placing his purchases on the oak-flooring. The house was quiet, still, excepting only the faint hum of the shower stream coming from the bathroom upstairs. He placed the paper bag of oysters he'd purchased from the delicaseteen gently on the hallway counter, before hanging his jacket on the coat rack and slipping off his brogues, placing them neatly at the door. He thumbed his other purchase in his trouser pocket - a new cologne, bergamot and cedar, the musky aroma clinging to his shirt and throat. He picked up the bag and placed it on the kitchen counter, before ascending the spiral staircase to the bedroom he and Hannibal shared. The sun had permeated through his cotton shirt, so he decided to slip into a different one; shell pink, with black buttons. Hannibal had picked it out for him, and the resemblance it bore to a shirt Will had owned in Virginia was not lost on him. 

He daubed himself with a little more cologne, then perched on the bed. A few moments later, Hannibal entered the room, wearing slacks and no shirt, perspiration making his skin glisten. He paused at the door frame, leaning against it, then imperceptibly raised his face to the air. He smiled, turning his face to Will. “Is that a new cologne?”

Will nodded, walking towards him and wrapping his arms around his neck. Hannibal pressed his face to Will’s throat, breathing in. “Bergamot,” he murmured against his skin. He pulled back, smirking. “The one I recommended?”

Will nodded, smiling against his hair. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said in a low voice, slipping his hands to Will’s hips. “You’re wearing the shirt I bought you.” Will saw his eyes darken, and felt a thrill go through his abdomen. 

“Your taste is exquisite,” Will replied coyly, lifting his eyes to Hannibal’s. 

Hannibal smirked, then gently took hold of Will’s chin, angling it from side to side appreciatively. “Yes,” he growled. “It is.”

He pressed a kiss to Will’s mouth, slipping his hands up to his neck and backing him against the wall. Will sighed, deepening the kiss, pressing his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth and pulling him ever closer by his belt loops. Hannibal growled at the contact, feeling Will already hard against him under his shorts. He grabbed Hannibal through his trousers, making him hiss against his mouth, but he gently took Will’s hand away, placing it on his waist.

“Not yet,” he smirked, slipping Will’s shorts open with one deft movement. “This is about you.”

He pressed Will ever closer to the wall, crowding him like a predator, then slipped his hand into his shorts, cupping him. Will sighed, trailing his hands down the exposed skin of Hannibal's back. Hannibal began to agonisingly stroke Will, coaxing low moans from his throat. Hannibal felt his trousers strain with his own arousal at the sound. He didn't seek a reprieve, not yet, instead leaning down to whisper bite the exposed skin under Will's ear, illiciting a deep moan, before placing his mouth to his ear. "You smell so fucking good," he growled, placing a hand to Will's throat to hold him back as he increased the pressure on Will's member. 

"Ah...fuck...Hannibal," Will cried out, carding his hands through Hannibal's hair and pulling. 

Hannibal chuckled against Will's neck, then pushed the soft material of Will's shirt back, trailing a line of kisses down his exposed skin, all the way to his naval. He was kneeling now, and stopped for a moment to take in Will's bewildered expression, wide blown eyes, mussed hair. His eyes darkened at the sight, his own arousal becoming painfully apparent, straining against his boxers. 

"Do you like like seeing me like this, on my knees in front of you?" Hannibal murmured in a low voice, trailing kisses along Will's inner thigh. He paused just before he reached Will's shorts, looking up at him with an expression of mock innocence. Will let out a heady breath, eyes turned up to the ceiling. 

"Yes," he rushed out, and Hannibal was reminded of his admission in therapy all those years ago, when Will admitted to thinking about killing him, intimately, with his hands. Hannibal growled low in his throat at the memory, eyes almost black with desire. He placed his hands at Will's hips, pulling his shorts down roughly. Will's erection sprung out, Hannibal flicking his tongue over his lips, before placing them gently on Will. 

"Fuck," Will hissed through his teeth, pulling at the strands of hair at the nape of Hannibal's neck. Hannibal increased the pressure, taking Will in his mouth and sucking. Will bucked his hips, finally turning his down and locking his gaze with Hannibal's, mutual surrender. Hannibal took him ever deeper, grasping Will's hips firmly in his hands. Will moaned, grinding against Hannibal's mouth, "So good Hannibal, that's so good..."

Hannibal felt himself growing impossibly harder at the sight, and felt his own arousal increasing, soaking his boxers. Will grunted, holding onto Hannibal's hair, and Hannibal knew that he was painfully close. Still sucking, Hannibal flicked his tongue over Will's sensitive tip, back and forth over and over, until he finally pushed Will over the edge, moaning Hannibal's name low in his throat, his entire body shuddering with his orgasm. The sight of Will coming undone, and the sound of his name on Will's swollen lips, were enough to tip Hannibal over the edge too, grunting as he reached climax, eyes fluttering shut. For a moment all was silent but for their ragged breaths, slowing as Hannibal pulled back, licking his lips, and placed a kiss to Will's stomach. He could feel his heartbeat in his mouth, a rapid thrum under his skin. Will run his hands through his hair, before taking Hannibal's hand and pulling him up against him, kissing him slow on the mouth. 

"I love you," Will said quietly, pressing a kiss beneath Hannibal's throat. He hummed at the pressure, eyes still dark, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. He took one of Will's curls between his fingers, twisting and untwisting. 

"How will you show me?" he questioned teasingly, eyes alight with mirth, and Will pulled him back down to his mouth again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again sorry for the kinda bad smut I'm pretty new to writing it lol


	6. From Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal draws Will in his office.

"The shipyard was in Pascagoula, a half hour from our home." Will paced around Hannibal's office, sleeves rolled up, his eyes distant.Hannibal sat at his desk, dressed in a prim blue suit, taking small increments from the tip of his pencil with his scalpel. His eyes didn't leave Will, who turned to Hannibal, carding a hand through his hair. "My father taught me to repair the engines," he leant back against the desk, finally meeting Hannibal's eyes, "he was silent as he worked, and afterwards we'd rinse our hands in the water of the Mississippi." He smiled almost regretfully, turning his palms up to his eyes. "The oil would stain my skin black for days."

Hannibal smiled, sliding a piece of thick parchment towards him. "The memory seems to warm you."

Will shook his head gently, turning his eyes back to the wall. "It wasn't happy, it was...stable, I suppose." He hugged his arms around his chest. "Stability was hard to come by, even harder to keep."

Hannibal nodded gently, sketching the outline of Will's frame. He had few qualms about Will discovering his work; he became distant when he talked about his family, almost like recalling a story someone else had told him. Will shook his head again, as though coming awake. 

"The proverbial new kid, always looking for a way to anchor himself." Hannibal mused, sketching the ghost of Will's features on the paper. 

"Or for someone to anchor to," Will replied quietly, almost as though he were admitting to a secret, and Hannibal knew he was thinking about Abigail. 

Hannibal took his figure in appraisingly, eyes lingering on his mouth as he sketched. "Maybe that's why you favour the practical, as a way to ground yourself."

Will sighed, running rubbing his cheek with his palm. "I thought you invited me here on a cordial visit, not to be psychoanalysed."

Hannibal smiled, eyes still on Will. "My apologies, Will, I often find myself in psychiatrist mode long after I've closed the door." He began to make languid swirls with the pencil, shading Will's hair. 

Will nodded faintly, still against the desk. He paused for a moment, the silence between them broken only by the gentle friction of lead against paper. He turned to meet Hannibal's eyes. "And you, Dr Lecter, anything you want to get off your chest?"

Hannibal smiled wryly, taking in Will's figure in front of him. "I don't think the stories of my youth would interest you all that much," he answered, blending the graphite a little with the pad of his thumb. 

Will leaned a little over the desk. "That sounds like secret keeping, Dr Lecter."

"Sins of omission are not secrets," Hannibal replied, meeting Will's gaze. Will turned his eyes down then, finally seeing the sketch Hannibal was working on. "What's this?" Will asked, reaching for it across the desk. Hannibal slipped the drawing under a blank piece of parchment before he could make contact, setting his mouth. 

"Something I'm working on," he replied quietly, then turned his gaze back to Will’s again. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” Will replied, turning back to face the wall. Hannibal stood from his chair then, smoothing down his suit, and walked to stand adjacent to Will in front of the desk, the tops of their thighs barely touching. 

“No, it’s discourteous of me,” he began, turning to lock his gaze with Will, eyes dark. Their faces were inches apart. “I can draw it at any time,” he continued, eyes flicking to Will’s mouth, then back up to his eyes. “I know it from memory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk lol


	7. Sins of Omission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will details his dreams to Hannibal.

"And the hallucinations, Will, are they still affecting you?"

Hannibal ran a hand through his cropped silver hair, surveying Will in the seat opposite him. It was November in Baltimore, and a thin veil of snow was beginning to settle on the hard-packed ground outside, like coal peeking through diamond. Will sighed, his shoulders slumped forward. 

"Yes," he answered resignedly, eyes darting around the room, before finally coming to settle on Hannibal's. "Everything is beginning to blur."

Hannibal nodded, frowning, eyes downcast. "And the dreams, Will, are they still as potent?" 

Will stilled suddenly, swallowing. The dream of the previous night came back to him suddenly in sharp, splintered, pieces, like glass shattered by a bullet. Hannibal's hands, shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbows, pushing him back, back, back against his desk, drawings fluttering to the carpeted floor like snowfall, Hannibal against his back, hand creeping up his thigh and into his jeans. His words came back to him, echoing around his ears as though they were uttered deep underground, "Do you think about this, Will, as much as I do?", before taking him by the mouth. Will had woken in hot sweats, as he often did, unable to ignore how hard he was, lying back against his sheets in defeat. His eyes darted to the desk, his cheeks warming with the memory, and he shook his head as though the motion would rid him of the thought. Hannibal's eyebrows quirked up, as though he could detect Will's thoughts. 

"No, uh, well..." Will stumbled, not meeting Hannibal's eyes, which glinted in the dim light. Will tried again. "The bad ones are, well...unpleasant." He finished shakily, finally turning his eyes up to Hannibal's. 

"I can imagine, after all you've seen," Hannibal replied gently. His bright eyes suddenly seemed to darken, like ink dispersing in water, and he leaned slightly forward in his seat. Will nodded too quickly, eyes still on the floor.

"Tell me, Will, these dreams you experience - could any of them be considered erotic?" Hannibal parried Will coolly, as though he were asking about the weather, or what Will had eaten for dinner. 

Will's eyebrows furrowed, heat rushing back to his cheeks and staining them red. Hannibal's lips twitched, as though he had illicted the reaction he wanted. "No, uh..." Will set his features. "I really don't think that is relevant to the subject, Dr Lecter."

"On the contrary, it is entirely relevant," Hannibal replied levelly, entwining his fingers in his lap, the fingers he'd placed in Will's mouth after he fucked him against the desk, voice low in his ear, breath against his throat, "Taste me." Will swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, arousal straining against his shorts, and mirrored Hannibal's movements. Hannibal eyes darkened a little, although remained poised and nonplussed as ever.

"Our dreams are environments to explore both fantasy and fear," Hannibal continued, flicking his tongue over his lips. "Your dreams may indicate your desires, or be indicative or something else - a fear perhaps." Will resolutely continued to avoid Hannibal's eyes. "This can include many things; a relinquishing of control, a confusing relationship," he paused for effect, "or, perhaps, a desire to delve into the unknown," Hannibal sat back, admiring his work. Will's pale skin was flushed rose, his eyes avoidant, expression nervous. 

"Will," Hannibal started, in a voice thick with mirth, "I am your psychiatrist - nothing you utter in here will leave this room, you have my word."

Will stood then, and began pacing the room, slipping a hand through his hair. "It's not something I want to discuss with you, or anybody for that matter," he huffed, almost petulantly.

"This was a very simple question, Will," Hannibal replied, smoothing his suit down and standing. He began to walk slowly towards him, buttoning his navy plaid suit jacket, eyes never leaving Will's form.

"Do you have trouble talking about sex?" He asked suddenly, walking towards Will with a predatory stillness.

"With my psychiatrist, yes!" he replied indignantly, hands on his hips, still facing the wall. The thought of Hannibal's hand on him, trailing down his abdomen and slipping into his jeans, taking his length in his palm in long, languid, strokes as he was backed up against the desk, came back to him, and his blush burned crimson. A smirk ghosted Hannibal's curved mouth, rendering his face entirely devlilish and predatory. 

Hannibal reached Will, placing a hand on his shoulder, which jumped at the touch. "Why don't I ask you some vague questions and you can answer the ones you feel are helpful?" Hannibal asked softly, his hand still on Will. 

"Yes, alright," Will nodded quickly, uncomfortable with Hannibal's hand on him, but seemingly unable to move. Hannibal nodded, finally releasing his hand, and he smirked at Will's sharp intake of breath.

"Do you submit yourself in these dreams, or do you take control?" Hannibal questioned in a tone of mock professionalism, his body still close to Will's. 

Will rolled his eyes, walking to the edge of the room, standing against the ladder. "I...I submit myself," he answered quietly, eyes on the floor. Hannibal nodded again, his expression almost congratulatory, before following Will to the other side of the room. 

"And are you in a public place in these dreams, or somewhere private?" Hannibal asked, tone level, cornering Will with his body and eyes. 

Will's eyes flicked around the room, lingering on the desk for a moment, before returning to the floor. "Private...a private place," he answered quietly, cheeks still flushed pink, as though he had been struck. "Is this really necessary, Dr Lecter?" he asked, gesticulating indignantly, almost as though he were trying to convince himself. 

Hannibal smiled amusedly, walking ever closer. "I have only one more question, and then I promise I'll relinquish control," Hannibal replied, forcing Will to hold his gaze, which was dark with lust and something akin to hunger, casting a shadow over his hollow features. "These dreams," he asked quietly, still inching closer to Will, "are they...pleasurable?" He wet his tongue with his lips, which were curved into a wicked smile. 

Will's mind again conjured the image of the dream, of Hannibal's fingers in his mouth, fucking him with it, taking him impossibly further into his throat, Will twining his hands in his hair as he came, his words echoing around the walls of the office, "Hannibal." He swallowed, then finally, almost challengingly, met Hannibal's heavy gaze, as though they were were sparring. Will could almost reach out and grab him by the hips, pull him roughly against him, make him feel the way Hannibal had made him feel the night before. Instead, he uttered one word, the truth, which seemed to reveal more than just the secrets of his psyche. "Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you're enjoying so far :)


	8. Little White House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal rescues Will when he finds him sleepwalking at night.

Hannibal had almost veered off the road when he saw him. 

He cut a ghostly figure, washed in the spectral glow of the headlamps, eyes staring into nothing, mouth agape, feet bare on the asphalt. One of his dogs, Winston, Hannibal thought, cowered behind him on the road, ears back. As Hannibal stilled the ignition and opened the door, planting his feet on the ground, his instinct was not to harm, but to harbour, to return Will safely to his little white house at the edge of the forest.

“Will,” Hannibal said quietly, slipping off his jacket and pressing it to his shoulders. “Will, can you hear me?”

Will was still for a moment longer, body tense, eyes vacant, before he seemingly shook awake, turning disorientedly to Hannibal.

“You were sleepwalking, Will,” Hannibal continued, pressing a palm to Will’s forehead. He leaned into the touch, blinking rapidly, searching the dark that engulfed Wolf Trap every night like a black tidal wave, the spray of spectral moonshine ebbing and flowing over the trees and snow. 

“How far away from home am I?” Will asked disorientedly, pressing a hand to his forehead. 

“Ten miles,” Hannibal replied gently, hand grazing Will’s shoulder as he walked over to where Winston sat, petting his head. “Someone followed you out.”

Will turned in a daze, eyes lightening imperceptibly. “Hi, Winston.” He knelt next to Hannibal on the gravel, knees bare on the dirt, and ran a hand through his fur. Hannibal warmed, a faint smile colouring his features. He pressed himself upwards, offering Will his hand. He took it gratefully, standing unsteadily. Hannibal pressed a hand to his lower back, slipping the other around his shoulders. He was freezing, Hannibal’s hand burning through the sheer fabric of his t-shirt. He pulled the jacket tighter around him, shielding him from the cutting wind that wet his eyes and flurried the leaves, guiding him towards the warmth of the car. He lowered Will down carefully into the passenger seat, then turned his head, pressing his fingers to his mouth to whistle to Winston. He followed loyally, bounding through the dark, and Hannibal ushered him into the backseat. He rounded the car and slipped into the driver’s side, fastening his seatbelt. Will was shivering, so he turned up the heat to full, pulling a thick black blanket from the backseat and pressing it gently to Will’s pale form. 

“Thank you, for finding me,” Will said drowsily, eyes closed. 

Hannibal pressed his lips together, starting the ignition, and let his eyes roam Will’s face, almost tranquil in the half-light. Winston whimpered in the silence, curling up where he sat. “Get some rest, Will.”

As the still country passed in a dark blur, slaughterhouses and farmland and pine trees glinting like teeth, Will’s words from one of their therapy sessions drifted to him in the dark, ‘when I look back from a distance, the house is like a boat on the sea. It’s really the only time I feel safe’, and he felt a sudden profound recognition, shielded from the elements and the unknown of the flatlands around them, Will by his side. 


	9. With my Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will resumes his therapy with Hannibal, and the tension between them becomes inescapable.

Will Graham turned in the hallway of Hannibal Lecter's softly lit house, a nonchalant expression gracing his features. His hands, which were slipped casually in his pockets, had held a gun to Hannibal's head just days ago. 

"Hello Will," Hannibal started in a clipped, unreadable, tone. He looked as though he had been expecting him. 

Will paused for effect, holding Hannibal's gaze. "May I come in?"

Hannibal surveyed his figure, taking in his neat pink button-up and freshly-cut hair. "Do you intend to point a gun at me?" he asked, voice level. 

The ghost of a smirk played on Will's lips, as though he enjoyed the question. "Not tonight."

He slid past Hannibal in the doorway, his movements calm, poised, hands still stuffed in his pockets. Hannibal paused for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly, before closing the heavy door. 

Will was surveying the room, his back to Hannibal, dark hair gilded in the dim light. "Were you expecting someone?" he enquired, voice still low. 

"Only you," Hannibal replied.

"You kept my standing appointment open," Will half-stated, half-asked, a hint of amusement playing in his tone, still with his back to Hannibal. It was a dangerous thing to do, turn your back on a predator, but Will understood that Hannibal would not harm him tonight.

Hannibal lifted his wrist leisurely to check his watch. "And you are right on time," he answered, in a knowing tone. 

Will sighed, still facing away. His suit jacket still hung over his arm, his posture the same; poised and upright, like a still frame, one of Hannibal's paintings. "I have to deal with you," he began, "and my...feelings about you. I think it's best if I do that directly."

Hannibal strode towards him, hands hanging at his sides. He surveyed Will inquisitively, like a hawk overseeing a field. "First you have to grieve for what is lost, and what has changed," he stated, words heavy with meaning. Will conjured Abigail's face in his mind; her dark hair, soft eyes, and a jolt of rage shocked his body. He suppressed it; he knew Hannibal was reading him - his face, his body. If he let his emotion show in it, however, imperceptible, the game would be up. 

"I, I've changed," Will acknowledged, turning his head a little to the side. "You changed me." That was true, at least; he measured his life now in two stages - before him, and after him. 

Hannibal clicked his tongue. "The friendship that we had is over," he concluded, finality in his tone. 

"It had to be Miriam didn't it," Will continued, his voice a low growl. His jaw twitched, a sudden anger etched into his features. "She was compelled to take his life so she could take her own back."

Hannibal still quietly observed Will, eyes emotionless, nonplussed by the outburst. "How will you take your life back?"

Will felt a sudden change in the room, like all of the air had suddenly dispersed. There was that tension there, now, that familiar tension; their terse back and forths sitting opposite each other in Hannibal's office, reflections of one another, two sides of the same coin. But there was something else now, too, or maybe it had been there all along and only now come to the surface; a kind of dull longing, a morbid longing, to move closer to Hannibal, the apex predator, to observe him from up-close instead of at a distance. Will used it to his advantage, turning lanuidly to face Hannibal and flicking his eyes to Hannibal's, which were dark in his face, like two pits. "I'd like to resume my therapy," Will stated, almost nonchalantly. 

Will took his seat quietly, and in the brief reprieve Hannibal allowed himself a small, smile, more born of mirth than happiness, and took his seat opposite Will. It painted a familiar picture, although this was more vivid, drawn in bolder lines, now everything was out on the table. A long, heavy, silence, stretched between them, both of them observing the other. Hannibal's eyes lingered on the piece of dark hair curled neatly against his forehead, then flicked down to his light eyes. 

"Where shall we begin?" Hannibal began, his tone light, playing the good doctor. 

Will's mouth quirked up. "How I've changed," he replied quietly. 

Hannibal nodded slightly, eyes glinting. "Your experiences have shifted your perception of me, and of yourself," Hannibal replied, eyes lingering on his. 

Will shook his head. "Not my experiences, Dr Lecter, yours," he replied, shifting in his seat. He laughed a little, a low, tortured, laugh. "Although I suppose there is little difference now."

Hannibal shifted in his seat, licking his lips. "You pointed a gun to my head," he stated, his voice low and even, as though recalling a simple fact.

"Yes," Will sighed out, an acknowledgement, an admission. He was enjoying this, he realised, this game, goading Hannibal. He felt powerful, watching Hannibal's intense gaze as he took him in, searched his face. 

Hannibal smiled a little. "Do you think about killing me, Will?"

Will sat a little straighter in his seat, pausing a moment before he locked eyes will Hannibal. "Yes," he sighed out, as though the reply had been pushing against his lips to escape. That was true, too; he thought of his nights in prison, those long, black, nights, where he would dream of grabbing him by the throat, squeezing and squeezing until the light left his eyes. He always woke up just before he killed him. 

Hannibal's eyes glinted with amusement, his expression perplexed. "Tell me, how would you do it?"

Will felt it again, that power surge through him, making him bolder, more daring. He decided to harness it, that power, and use it as a weapon. Carefully, as though not to start him, he stood from his chair and walked over to Hannibal, kneeling gently so that their faces were inches apart, eyes locked. For the first time in all the years they had played this game, Hannibal looked almost unsteady, as though unsure of what Will's next move would be. Strike him, kiss him? Will did neither. He simply answered the question.

"With my hands."

He leant back gently, pleased with Hannibal's reaction as realisation dawned on his face, his eyes darkening. He maintained eye contact until he passed Hannibal's seat, putting his hands in his pockets once more and surveying the cavernous room. He felt as though he knew it from memory, that he could recreate it in his mind and set foot in there. 

Hannibal stood slowly, following Will to where he stood, adjacent to the ladder propped against the bookshelf. He stood inches from him, then leant down a little and breathed in, the heady scent of Will's cologne filling his senses. 

Will turned, the hint of a smirk still turning the corners of his mouth. He walked backwards the extra few steps so that he was backed against the ladder, his eyes never leaving Hannibal's. The taller man followed, their bodies inches apart.

"Show me," Hannibal said, voice a low growl. 

Will slipped his hands from his pockets deliberately, and delicately, gently, placed them against Hannibal's throat, his fingertips at the edge of his jawline. He closed his eyes, feeling the light stubble under his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His skin was warmer than Will had imagined, and soft, pliant. Neither moved for a moment, and the tension grew impossibly stronger. Will felt a drop in his stomach, as though he were falling, and realised that he'd forgotten himself, forgotten the game; the malice he felt replaced by something lower, just above his abdomen. Hannibal's eyes had closed, and his breaths had become ragged. Will realised he liked this, having him under his thumb, the power to make his breaths slow and his eyes flutter shut. He could attack him now, but that would be losing; he had to keep him close, contained, in order to get what he wanted. 

He instilled the final blow, and leaned forward and kissed him. Hannibal was stunned into stillness for a moment, as though struck, then increased the pressure against Will's lips, opening his mouth. He tasted of wine, merlot, a drink they had shared together the evenings they spent together, Will oblivious to his proximity to danger. He felt it now, as Hannibal slid his hands into Will's hair, mussing it, and gripped him tightly, pulling their bodies flush together. He was reminded of his strength, his power, and it made him feel powerful too, as though they were sharing it. Will slid his hands under Hannibal's fleece shirt, over his abdomen, feeling the planes of hard muscle, skimming over the warm skin there and up to his chest. He felt his heartbeat there, stronger than he had felt in his neck, and he suddenly felt how alive he was, under his hands, like holding his hand over a flame. Will pulled on his belt loops, grinding against Hannibal, and he sighed against his mouth, face growing hotter. Will slid his hand down lower, stroking against his abdomen, then slid his hand into his trousers, palming him. Hannibal moaned against Will's mouth, his body tensing, holding Will tighter against him. 

Will pulled back slowly, stilling his hand, before slowly removing it and pulling back so that he lay upright against the ladder. He took in Hannibal's uneven breaths, dilated pupils, and felt that power grow stronger, like a light within him. He sighed, pulling straightening his shirt and hair before slipping past Hannibal to the middle of the room. Hannibal turned to face him, enraptured, something almost like pride in his eyes. 

"We'll speak at my next appointment, Dr Lecter," he said evenly, pulling on his jacket. He turned leisurely to face him, meeting his eyes. "Goodnight."


	10. Carry Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tends to Hannibal's wounds after the fall.

Will awoke to the scent of blood.

At first he believed he was still asleep; he often had nightmares, the same nightmare, that he was drowning in a churning sea of red so dark it appeared black, the sheen of moonlight fading into nothing as he sank into the depths. 

He shook himself awake, disoriented, to find that the dream had followed him into the waking world; the sheets of their country house bed were stained claret, saturating the fabric and the tightly-wrapped gauze around Hannibal's midriff. 

"Hannibal," he started in a daze, pulling off the comforter and pressing a hand to his cheek. "Hannibal, wake up, you're bleeding..." Hannibal's eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, although they brightened in alarm as he pressed his palm to the bandages. It came away red. 

"Bathroom, let's go to the bathroom," Will said, trying to keep the panic from straining his voice. He'd seen Hannibal broken in all kinds of ways, watched him bound, shot, pitched them over the edge of a cliff not two months before. Something was different now, demonstrably, something that changed as soon as they hit the water; they had embraced each other in life and in death, and Will wanted the former to continue, wanted to keep Hannibal as close as possible, under his hands. 

"Put your arm around me," Will directed, slipping one of Hannibal's arms around his shoulders and pressing his hand gently to his hip. Hannibal nodded wordlessly, the only signifier of his pain a faint grimace as Will cradled his waist and led him to the bathroom. The sun had just begun to rise outside the window, painting the room in colours of the flesh, pinks and golds and muted violet. Will gently lowered Hannibal onto the edge of the tub, kneeling in front of him to unwrap the gauze. Hannibal hissed through his clenched teeth, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," Will said quietly, a pang ringing through his chest. He had to suppress it, focus on the practical. He briefly pressed his face to Hannibal's cheek before going to the cabinet, rifling through the drawer until he found the first aid kit. He threaded the needle quickly, despite the tremble of his fingers, and returned to his position at Hannibal's feet. 

Hannibal had a look in his eye Will had only seen glimpses of before, in quiet, still, moments. It was the same look he had when he thought Will had been killed by Tobias, and he emerged, unscathed, from the wreckage and into Hannibal's office. 

Will worked silently, eyes downcast, lips pressed together in concentration. He thought of all the times they had harmed each other, maimed one another, sent missionaries to kill each other. As he took in Hannibal's impassive face and pale, flushed, cheeks, vulnerable beneath his hands as he gently wrapped fresh gauze around the stitching, it felt as though he were recounting someone else's memories, like a dream that had followed him out of the dark and into the day.

The morning sun had risen now, wan light casting Hannibal in gold like some primordial myth. Will breathed deeply, setting the needle on the floor. 

"Thank you," Hannibal said simply, pressing a hand to his abdomen. He attempted to stand, but Will pushed him gently back down by his shoulders. 

"Rest, I'll get you cleaned up," Will said softly, rising to rinse his hands in the sink. He daubed the strips of gauze with alcohol and lowered himself gently next to Hannibal on the edge of the tub, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. He began to dab at the blood stains on Hannibal's jaw, trailing down to his chest. Hannibal was watching him, eyes tracing his face. 

"You know, if it weren't for the way we fell, we would've died when we hit the water," he twined a stray curl around his finger. "You saved us."

Will kept his eyes down, daubing Hannibal's chin. "I didn't know I was saving us," he murmured, placing the pink-stained gauze on the edge of the tub. He raised his eyes to Hannibal's heavy gaze. "I thought I was...ending it. Ending our story."

Hannibal nodded lightly, a smile in his eyes. "Were you regretful, the moment our feet left the ledge?"

Will stilled for a moment, studying his face. He felt as though they were the only two people left on earth, suddenly, everything vanishing into dust and smoke behind them, leaving only this room and the sound of Hannibal's steadying heartbeat. "No," he replied finally, twining his hands in his lap. "I felt...still, like I was made of air," he continued quietly, lifting his eyes up to Hannibal's. "I felt your heartbeat against my cheek, that's all," his voice was faraway, like he was recounting a story, "I counted five beats before we hit the water."

Hannibal's eyes softened imperceptibly. "Do you remember the cold? I do."

Will shook his head, hair brushing Hannibal's cheek. "I remember the fall, and waking up after the fall." He presses his face to Hannibal's shoulder. "I remember you carrying me out."

Hannibal smoothed Will's hair away from his forehead. "Perhaps that's why you dream of it, drowning; it's your mind's way of filling in the missing pieces." The call of a hawk outside the window cut through the stillness, as though punctuating Hannibal's words. 

Will nodded. "I dream of your eyes too, bright against the shoreline." He kisses Hannibal's fist. "I thought I was dead."

Hannibal stilled suddenly, face clouding. "So did I."

Will smiled sadly. "And you carried me anyway."

He slipped his hands through Hannibal's hair and kissed him square on the mouth, careful not to brush the gauze. Hannibal pulled away gently, pressing his face into Will's throat. "I couldn't leave without you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love them sm

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed - prompts/suggestions always welcome :)


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